by Lila Munro
Drake nodded with a shadow of sadness in his eyes Dante couldn’t determine the source of. Was it from the fact this house was technically no longer home? Or was it sympathetic anguish for Jules’ disposition?
"I’ll call later," Drake told him before walking away, his eyes swimming with unspent tears.
"Thank you," Dante mumbled, wishing he hadn’t had to ask.
They’d all been through quite enough and now he’d heaped the responsibility of his children off on someone else so he could try to bring his dead friend’s wife back to the land of the living. She'd definitely wandered away. He knew Jules all too well. He was by no means trying to fool himself or anyone else. It would take so much longer than a week. In fact, hell would nearly have to freeze before she’d come back to them but a week alone with her would be a start. She nearly crossed that line when her sister, Cassie, died. And he’d definitely watched her go to that dark place after each of her miscarriages and again after the doctor told the devastated couple to stop trying or she might die with the next one. And now she’d laid her husband, lover, friend, and safe place to rest alongside those five tiny stones, the markers of denial.
"Blake, you have to be strong for her. It’s going to take us both, you know," Dante said after everyone silently paraded out the front door. "Just remember I was yours first. This won’t change anything between us."
"I was strong for her long before you came along. I think I remember how," Blake clipped. "And I’m perfectly aware it would never change things. I’ve know that for years. Don’t worry. It’s Jules. No negotiations necessary, Master."
He jerked away and turned, headed for the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Dante stood and almost went after him, but realized he couldn’t very well be two places at once and right now he was needed right outside this door.
"To pack her a few things." Blake started upstairs without looking back. "I think I remember how to do that much without being told."
Dante didn’t have time to analyze Blake’s words or their meaning right now. A brat was the last thing he needed at the moment.
A half hour later Blake returned with a rolling leather suitcase in tow and a matching overnight bag draped over his shoulder. Without so much as a sideways glance in Dante’s direction, he marched across the foyer and out the door. When he came back in, he took up a seat next to Dante, crossed his legs, and clasped his hands over his knee.
"Has there been any let up at all," he asked curtly.
"No, none at all," Dante answered, wondering how long this might go on. There were only so many things in the damn room. Sooner or later she’d run out of things to throw.
"You have ten minutes," Blake informed him. "If you don’t go in there after her, I will."
"You'll do what I tell you to." Dante tamped down his anger at Blake’s contradiction, chalking it up to sorrow.
"I will not," Blake clipped. "She needs you and if you don’t go in there, I will and damn the consequences. Whatever punishment you see fit to mete out later I’ll gladly take without regret."
It was then all fell quiet on the other side of the door. Dante sat forward and Blake uncrossed his legs and stood. Before either could go to the door, the muffled sound of Julie reciting William Blake over her sobs filtered through the mahogany barrier between them.
"I was angry with my friend. I told my wrath, my wrath did end," she hoarsely mumbled. "I was angry with my foe. I told it not, my wrath did grow."
Dante took a deep breath and moved for the knob, knowing full well the words were directed at him and Mason. The woman could conjure the most appropriate verses even in the midst of chaos. It unnerved him. When he pushed the door open, the sight before him was shocking in spite of the constant noise he’d heard for the last hour.
Not one book remained on the shelves. They were strewn over every square inch of floor amidst various trinkets and statues. The plants lay haphazard, some half in and half out of their pots, their roots exposed and their leaves crumpled and wilting. The desk was cleared of everything. It was all in a heap on the floor between Mason’s chair and the wall.
In the middle of the mayhem, Julie sat holding her arm and rocking, still repeating lines from Blake which Dante knew Mason would be reciting himself if he were here. That was one of the ways Mason soothed her. Too bad Dante didn’t know a damn thing about literature and couldn’t offer anything more than a few stanzas of a nursery rhyme starting with Hey diddle diddle.
It was while he stood there stunned, his heart cracking at the sight of someone in so much grief, he noticed the slow trickle of blood running down her arm and falling off her elbow in fat plops.
"Fuck," he bit out.
"You should have done something sooner," Blake barked, shoving Dante to the side and kneeling beside her on the floor. "Jules, pumpkin, you’re hurt."
"I know," she said, looking up, the look of pain Dante expected to see eerily absent.
"Jesus, honey. Come on. Get up. We need to get a good look at you. I think you might need stitches," Blake urged, wrapping one hand around the wound and pulling her to her feet with the other.
Dante still hadn’t moved an inch as Blake ushered her out of the room, a trail of red droplets following them. This was definitely more than he was equipped to handle.
Knowing he had to pull himself together, Dante made his way to the kitchen where Blake had her forearm over the sink under a gentle stream of water.
"It doesn’t actually look that deep," Blake was telling her in soft voice as he probed the cut. "You may not need stitches after all. There just seems to be a lot of blood. Don’t worry, pumpkin, we’ll get it fixed. Then we’re going home so you can…"
"We’re not going home," Dante spoke up, his senses returning all at once. "She needs a doctor."
"Dante, really, it’s not that…"
"Not that kind of doctor," he said, going to the drawer beneath the kitchen phone and jerking out Mason’s personal contact book. "What if she tries that shit again? What if we’re not around and she gets the job done next time?"
"What the fuck are you babbling about?" Blake demanded, holding Julie’s hand in the air as the blood flow slowed.
"I've sheltered you for too long, haven’t I?" Dante said, flipping through the pages of the little black book. "She might think she doesn’t want to live, but I want her to. Mason would want that, too."
"Of course she wants to live," Blake argued.
"Then why the hell did she cut herself?"
"I didn’t," Julie whispered. "It was an accident."
"She’s telling the truth," Blake added. "If this was an attempt to end her life, it was a sloppy one."
He peeled his fingers back to reveal a jagged tear along the inside of her forearm nowhere near her wrist.
"Don’t lie, Jules. It won’t help anything." Dante glanced at the cut then went back to his search. He knew Mason had a few friends that could get her help quickly.
"I’m not lying," she insisted in a voice that further ripped a hole in his heart. "I threw…" Julie took a shuddered breath and she sounded like she might choke on her own words. When they finally came, they were watery and choppy. "I threw the globe."
"You broke the globe?" Dante swore under his breath, turning to her. "You’ve got to be kidding me."
Mason had gone to great pains to have a snow globe hand crafted with two perfectly constructed miniatures of him and Julie on their wedding day tucked inside, riding away in a horse drawn sleigh. It was one of his wedding gifts to her. At the reception when she opened it, Mason reminded her it was their world, a place where she could escape anytime she wanted. She only need shake the globe and live in that moment forever.
"Yes," she said, clearly ashamed of her actions. "I…I didn’t mean it…I want it back," she wailed and would have fallen to her knees again had Blake not held her steadfast before guiding her to a chair. Although she might have wished she was dead, in that moment Dante knew she was telling the truth. She hadn’t
tried to take her own life. "I…tried…to pick…it up…"
Oh, God, Dante felt like a heel. Abandoning his search for a shrink, he went to her and as Blake continued to keep pressure on her arm, he wrapped her in his.
"I’ll fix it, love. Don’t cry. Please. I’ll pick it up and have it fixed."
Chapter Three
"No, I don’t need anything," Julie said, obviously tired of answering the question. "I’m fine. I can sleep by myself and I don’t want a pill. You should know by now not to ask me that. I’ve told you at least a dozen times I don’t want to die so you don’t have to worry about me bleeding all over your sheets in the middle of the night."
She was curled up in a ball on the chair in the corner of the guest room. The only thing Dante had talked her into since bringing her to his and Blake’s house was letting him put a collar on her. She agreed the weight of had eased her anxiety a bit. It wasn’t much of a one, just an old play collar of Blake’s and not in great condition, paling in comparison to the elaborately bejeweled piece she’d worn for years. Dante thought it looked not only odd on her but ugly as well and determined he’d find her something more fitting as soon as he could get to a store.
"And I told you I believe you," Dante told her, sinking onto the side of the bed.
It was late and he was exhausted. Quite frankly, he had no idea how Julie was still going. He knew from reports via Shelby and Layne she hadn't slept for the last three days. He also knew from long Dom to Dom discussions with Mason there were times the only way he could get her to sleep under duress was to put her into subspace.
How the hell did Dante achieve that exactly? Sure, he’d been appointed her Master, in the most unconventional manner he could perceive, and he technically could do anything he wanted with her, but how the hell did he take her to a place that neither of them were ready for yet? Not to mention Dante’s methods of sending someone into that sublime place between here and now and the outer edges of reality varied greatly from Mason's. Dante’s involved carefully metered pain tactics, something he knew good and well Julie had rarely, if ever, been subjected to as Mason wasn’t into that particular kink.
Damned if he knew what to do for her.
"Then please go to bed with Blake," Julie told him, tucking her arms a bit tighter around her middle. "He needs you."
"Is that why you won’t let me stay with you? You think you’re going to come between us?" Dante asked, knowing the answer without really even having to ask the question. He simply didn’t know what else to do except keep talking to her even if the dialogue was petty and meaningless.
"Dante, please. I’ve had people hovering over me for the last several days. Did it ever occur to you I simply need a few minutes to myself?" She sounded as if that answer solved everything and tomorrow she’d wake up with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step.
Truth be told, however, it hadn’t occurred to him that she might in fact need just that. Time to process without the added weight of a constant barrage of questions and advice. It wasn't her nature to deal with things well alone, but that didn’t mean people didn’t change, particularly in the face of adversity.
"I’ll leave your door open," he said, standing. "And ours will be cracked. If you need anything…"
"I’m fine," she snapped, glaring at him. "Go to bed with your husband."
The emphasis she put on the word twisted his guts.
"How is she?" Blake asked as Dante stepped into their bedroom and shrugged out of his dress shirt then started to pull his undershirt over his head.
"I have no idea." He balled the shirt in a wad and threw it at the hamper, missing but knowing Blake would pick it up later. "She stopped crying."
"Does she need anything?"
"She says no."
"She’s lying. You do realize that?" Blake put the book he’d been reading down and removed his glasses.
He’d been none too happy when Dante ordered him to bed by himself. Dante knew Blake would exhaust himself trying to cater to Julie. And when they were all to the point of falling over? What then? So he’d ordered him to bed. What good it had done was a mystery since he hadn’t bothered following through with the actual sleeping part. What had Dante expected by not being as specific as possible? He’d learned over the years that Blake was the most obedient thing on the planet, but would find ways of worming around what he was told to do on the technicality of wording. Dante remembered saying go to bed but not go to bed and go to sleep.
"And what would you have me do exactly?" Dante asked, shoving his trousers down his legs and kicking his way out of them then sitting to pull his socks off.
"Go sleep with her." Blake’s eyebrows shot to his hair line as he pointed one finger toward the hallway.
"Are you fucking shitting me?" He ran a hand over his head and blew out a long breath. "She just told me to come sleep with you."
"I don’t give a damn what she said. I don’t want you in here either," Blake told him with finality.
Sometimes Dante questioned who the Master was and who was the slave in this relationship.
Standing, he pinched the bridge of his nose then went to the bureau and pulled a pair of shorts from the third drawer. He jerked them on before starting to leave the room.
"I love you," Blake said in a not entirely believable tone.
"I love you, too."
When he walked back into the guest room, he discovered Julie had moved from the chair and was now curled up on her side on the edge of the bed on top of the covers. She’d shut the lamp off, but a soft glow filtered into the room from around the edge of the almost closed door leading to the adjoining bathroom.
"Why are you back?" she said listlessly.
"Because Blake ran me out of our room," he told her, pulling the comforter and sheet back and working it from under her legs. He crawled in behind her and pulled her into his frame, draping the sheet over them.
"I don’t want you here." Julie attempted to pull away, but Dante tightened his hold and kept her in place.
"I don’t give a damn what anyone wants at this point. I’m worn out and if you don’t just lay here and let me do this, I’ll be forced to the couch." He reached up and ran his hand over her head then kissed her cheek. "It’s not like we’ve never slept together."
"That was a long time ago," she reasoned, her breath quickening as if panic might swallow her up at any moment.
"Yeah, it was. And now is now."
"I’m not ready for this."
"Neither am I, but here we are. Now go to sleep. Please."
It was while the predawn light was just beginning to peek through the blinds Dante woke to find Julie slipping out of bed. He didn’t move in a deliberate attempt to see what it was she was up to without his knowing. Softly she padded to the bathroom, shutting the door silently behind her. Waiting patiently, he willed the hard-on that had come and gone all night at the feel of her soft body against his to stand down. Again. Guilt at his reaction to her swamped him and no matter how many excuses he’d given himself for it, none of them abated his disgust with himself.
She’d just buried her husband for Christ’s sake. How could he find reason at all for his dick’s need to find its way into her? It’d just been so damn long since he’d been with a woman and although he’d seen women he’d have gladly fucked seven ways to Sunday since he’d decided he loved Blake, none of them were worth risking his relationship for. None of them but Julie. But no matter how much he wanted her, how much he loved her, he knew deep down she didn’t love him. In fact, he was almost positive she was a little bit afraid of him. Besides, he simply couldn’t give her what Mason had.
He heard the toilet flush then water running. When all went silent again, Julie padded back out of the bathroom. But she didn’t rejoin him in the bed. Instead, she stole from the room like a thief in the night and disappeared down the hall.
Shit. What was she doing? Dante threw the covers back, rolled to his feet, and followed her to the kitchen where he found h
er on tiptoes reaching into a cabinet.
"Did you finally get hungry?" he asked, swallowing at the sight of her stretched out like that, his dick deciding it had a mind of its own once more.
"Jesus," she shouted and dropped the bag of flour she’d barely grasped before Dante said anything to her. "What are you doing up?" She spun around in the cloud of white that floated up from the floor.
"I could ask you the same thing, Jules. It’s not even daylight yet," he answered, moving toward the utility closet. He retrieved the broom and dust pan and started to sweep up the mess.
"Let me," Julie said, grabbing the broom handle.
"I’ve got it, love. Why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll be back in a minute."
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"Jules, what the hell are you doing up at this unholy hour?" Dante demanded, relinquishing the broom given she wouldn’t turn loose.
"Making breakfast," she explained as she pushed the pile of flour into the dustpan then poured it into the waste can. She put the broom away and returned back to the cabinets. "Do you have more flour?"
"Breakfast? At this hour?" Dante came up behind her and took her hand from her forehead. "Come on. This is ridiculous."
"No."
"Again with the no?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"It’s what I do." A frown pulled her lips down, forcing lines to develop around her eyes.
"It’s what you do?" Did she have some weird obsession with cooking to relieve stress that no one knew about?
"I cook every morning for Mason…cooked," she said over a sniffle. "I need to do this."
He watched as the same look of anguish that had overtaken her the day before at Drake’s announcement seeped into her features. Pools of tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them back, clearly trying to keep them at bay.
"I understand. I do." Dante approached her and palmed the back of her head, pulling her so close her heart tapped his chest with every beat. She needed to latch on to something normal. Anything that might help set her world right again if only for a moment. "But damn, woman, does it have to be before the sun comes up?"